


Day 4: Tease

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1980s, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale gets a makeover, Banter, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), M/M, Makeover, Men In Earrings, Men in Eyeliner, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Unresolved Sexual Tension, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: “What’s a cock tease?” Aziraphale frowns.Crowley snorts. “Nevermind, Angel, just let me finish your hair, yeah? I don’t fancy being late to this.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 4
Kudos: 165





	Day 4: Tease

**Author's Note:**

> All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading (and because I connected all the stories and should have done it this way to begin with): [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)

Day 4: Tease

July 12, 1986

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this!” Aziraphale huffs. He crosses his arms over his chest, and glowers at Crowley in the bathroom mirror. “I look ridiculous.”

He’s perched on a barstool dragged into the room from Crowley’s kitchen, where he is currently the recipient of one demonic makeover. Extra high wattage lights circle the oval shaped mirror like a bent halo. His blonde hair is teased into an impossibly high cirrus cloud on his head. Crowley seems determined to make it go higher. 

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley grumbles. He pulls the pick through Aziraphale’s hair, lifting it as high above his head as it will go. The room reeks of hair spray. “Let me use one little demonic miracle and this would all be done already.”

“We already went through— eugh!” Aziraphale coughs as Crowley liberally showers him with more AquaNet and begins to pull on his curls once more, torturing his scalp for the sake of fashion. Aziraphale thinks Marie Antoinette’s crowd would have killed for a can of this back in the day, although he doubts they would have been pleased with the incredibly tight ripped jeans Crowley has squeezed him into, or the black tank top with the word “Bitchin’” silk screened across the front in hot pink letters. “We already went through this,” Aziraphale says once more. “It’s not worth-” 

“No one on my side is going to notice a miracle for teasing hair!”

“-us getting caught by either side, Crowley.”

“They won’t even know what kind of teasing it means.”

“Gabriel said they would be keeping closer tabs on the demons on Earth.”

“They’re decades if not centuries behind humanity!” 

“If they find out that you and I are going to a concert-”

“And if they ask any questions-”

“-together, think of what they will do to us both!” 

“I’ll tell them I meant to miracle up a cock tease.”

“What’s a cock tease?” Aziraphale frowns. 

Crowley snorts. “Nevermind, Angel, just let me finish your hair, yeah? I don’t fancy being late to this.”

Aziraphale doesn’t like it when Crowley dismisses his questions. It makes him feel naive, and he’s not naive, no matter what Crowley has said over the years. He’s just not built to understand certain things about humans. It doesn’t mean that he’s not capable of understanding them. It’s just not his normal modus operandi, as they say (and that’s a turn of phrase he does understand very well, thank you very much). 

“You know,” Aziraphale says, slyly. “You could just go without me. I wouldn’t mind at all, my dear.”

“Oh no,” Crowley scowls, pulling at Aziraphale’s hair a little too tightly. Aziraphale thinks he’s doing it on purpose now. “You’re coming with me. You promised and you’re an angel, you can’t break promises. I spent a month in Guatemala. Doing. Three. Miracles. For. You. For. This.” He punctuates each of the last words by a vicious pull with the pick. “There. Hair’s done, don’t thank me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Aziraphale murmurs, wincing. He puts a hand up to touch his hair, only to have it slapped away. 

“Don’t touch it, either! It’s supposed to be that high, it’s supposed to be that hard, and yes, it should hurt if you scrunch your face up like that.”

Aziraphale lets his features go slack and examines his reflection in the mirror. He has to admit, he does not recognize the person staring back at him. Crowley is doing a masterful job with this makeover; Heaven will never recognize him. 

Crowley puts a hand on his shoulder and spins him around. He uses the inside of one knee to catch against the outside of Aziraphale’s knee to stop him from turning in a circle, and then crowds up into Aziraphale’s face. Aziraphale has only a fraction of a second to think about the intimate feel of the demon’s knee against his own before Crowley’s hand pushes his head back, and splays a hand across his face, pulling the skin away from his eye socket. 

“All right, time for the finishing touches.” He brandishes a black pencil in one hand, pulling the cap off with his teeth and spitting it on the ground. Aziraphale hears it bounce off the tiles. “Look towards Heaven,” Crowley commands, bringing the pencil close. 

“Why on earth would you want to go to a concert with someone who doesn’t like be bop anyway?” Aziraphale complains. He shifts backward as Crowley brings the pencil tip to the skin just under his eye. 

Crowley brings his face even closer to Aziraphale’s and snorts. “You’re supposed to look up when you look towards Heaven, not at me.” Aziraphale looks up, but only after rolling his eyes. 

“From this position, you’re actually having me look backwards, not heavenwards.”

Crowley ignores him. “And I want to go to a concert with you for the same reason that you want to take me to restaurants with four course meals when you know I’m only going to be able to manage one and a half.” 

Aziraphale’s mouth sets in a grim line. They are getting dangerously close to a topic he knows is better left ignored. But it’s like opening a new book when he’s still in the middle of another…. He just can’t resist taking a little peek beneath the cover…. “Dining is not the kind of thing one does by oneself. It’s . . . . lonely, I guess. A table for one, no one else there.”

Crowley finishes his left eye and turns his attention to the right one. “Same thing, like I said.”

“But you said there would be thousands of people there, all enjoying the same be bop that you do.”

“You can be lonely in a crowd the same way you can be lonely at a table for one,” Crowley says.

Aziraphale knows this already. He can only imagine the loneliness that Crowley must feel. While his colleagues in Heaven look askance at his love of humans and all the marvelous things they’ve developed in their time on Earth, Aziraphale can still feel the love of God in his heart. He can feel the love of humans all around him. These are what he falls back on in his darkest times on Earth. That love . . . and Crowley. Always Crowley. He reaches a hand up and gently touches Crowley’s wrist, the one that’s currently mashing his skin away from his face in an attempt to make him fit in with the humans and blend into a crowd of them, unnoticed by both Heaven and Hell. 

“I know, Crowley,” he says tenderly. “I know, dear boy.” Their eyes catch for a moment, just one moment, and Aziraphale thinks, I wish I could make sure you were never lonely again. 

Crowley presses his lips together in a grim line. “And for the last time, this is not be bop. Now look towards Hell-- that’s down, Angel, in case you forgot,” he says snidely. 

Aziraphale lets go of Crowley’s wrist and lowers his eyes as Crowley draws the pencil across his upper eyelid. “Are you sure this is really the kind of thing one wears to a concert, Crowley?” He picks at one of the holes in his jeans. “It seems a bit worn… and I think they might be a bit too tight.” 

“Supposed to be that way. Don’t blink!” He pulls at Aziraphale’s eyelashes to keep his eyelid down. 

“Why do I bother looking anywhere if you’re going to manhandle me like this anyway?” Aziraphale grouses. 

Crowley lets go of Aziraphale’s face and steps back to inspect his work. He looks proud. Aziraphale is not exactly sure what the effect of eyeliner will look like. He hasn’t worn eyeliner in his male form since the days of Moses.“Very nice, angel.” 

“Your version of nice and mine are two very different things.” 

Crowley grabs his wrist and pulls him off the barstool. “Come on, I’ve got a surprise for you, and no, I didn’t miracle it up, before you start worrying your pretty little head about it.” 

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, as he leads Aziraphale out of the bathroom. 

Aziraphale stops dead. “What? No! How will I see where I am going?”

Crowley sighs. “All right, just stop there then and close your eyes.”

Aziraphale looks at him suspiciously. “You’re not going to do a miracle while I’ve got my eyes closed, are you?” 

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Would I lie to you?”

Aziraphale glares at him, “Do you mean like the time you told me you weren’t responsible for Singing in the Rain? Or the time you said you were going to do the miracle in Italy for me but I found out that Mrs. Boni in fact never married John Donne? Or that time-” 

“All right, I might,” Crowley admits sheepishly,, “but not about this, all right? Promise.” 

Aziraphale still looks dubious. 

“I promise like I promised I would find a chef who could make crepes and would be willing to set up a shop in Soho and give him a loan, all right?” 

Aziraphale smiles. “Oh, that was a lovely restaurant. It’s too bad his son didn’t want to take over the business.” 

“Angel!”

“All right.” Aziraphale closes his eyes. He can hear Crowley moving around the room, opening and closing a door. He feels hands on his bare shoulders. 

“And that whole situation with Mrs. Boni worked out just fine. Your orders didn’t say she had to get married, just that she had to settle down in Italy and have a child.” 

Aziraphale keeps his eyes closed. Crowley is putting something on him. A coat? He feels the slide of satin against his skin. “You knew that I thought they were going to get married when I left Genoa.”

“Well, it all worked out in the end for the best,” Crowley placates him. Aziraphale can feel him fussing with the sleeves of whatever garment he has put over him. 

Crowley puts pressure on Aziraphale’s shoulders and he turns in place. 

“I suppose so,” Aziraphale says. “I’ll take this ridiculous costume you’ve put me in over those 16th century dresses any day of the week.” Crowley is in front of him now, fussing with the collar. He feels the demon’s fingers reach up and clip something to his ear. An earring? 

“You do realize I’m staying in my male form, don’t you, Crowley?”

“Shut up, and open your eyes,” Crowley says from his left. 

Aziraphale opens his eyes. He’s standing in front of the full length mirror in Crowley's bedroom, and now he’s wearing a sports jacket. 

Correction! He’s wearing . . . “Tartan?” He catches Crowley’s eyes in the mirror. There is a very subtle gray and pink tartan pattern to the cloth of the sports jacket. The collar is standing straight up, and sleeves are rolled up, revealing Aziraphale’s forearms. It’s a bit loose, but Aziraphale feels much more at home than he did in just the revealing tank top. A small gold clip on hoop hangs from his left ear. The eyeliner makes the blue of his eyes stand out. His hair…. Well, it’s very high. Very curly. Very teased. 

Crowley looks pleased with himself. “What do you think?”

“I must say I like the jacket,” Aziraphale admits. “Although I think the collar doesn’t really need to be up.” He reaches up to touch it and Crowley snaps his hand away like a viper striking. 

“Leave it,” he says. “You are a work of art, and I don’t have time to fix you. We have to be at Wembley in ten minutes.” 

Aziraphale is startled. “But you’re not ready!” 

Crowley laughs. He gestures to the bleached and ripped jeans and clingy black tee shirt that he’s wearing. “Angel, I was ready when you got here.” He puts his sunglasses on. “Time to rock and roll.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of that,” Aziraphale says brightly. “Elvis.” 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale are going to see Queen: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SJCTgtDU-74
> 
> Mrs. Boni is from Part 3 of the series.


End file.
